Caught In The Cross-Fire – 2011

The wire. Silver, glistening thread coiled like string, wrapped like a boa around a huge bustling crowd of tents, crushing the life out of the camp and its many, many inhabitants. The light gleaming off its metallic, intimidating surface is the first memory I have of the camp. Trekking over the hills, day after day of right after left, to crest one final hill and gaze solemnly at the camp. At your new life. No one spoke that day, when our heads rose above the curve of the land and we stared down at the barren yet writhing expanse of earth below us. There were no words left in our lungs, beaten out of us by the explosions and dry, scorching heat of days spent in a line, carrying our belongings on our backs, walking slowly but with purpose. Even in the silence, we all knew what we were thinking. We knew this place wasn’t going to be good, but we had no idea how bad. And we damned the government for forcing us here.


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